And I Do
by Shobogan
Summary: Everyone who knew Batgirl thinks Barbara misses her as much as they do.


**Prompt:** "There are some things she definitely doesn't miss about being Batgirl" for Heroines Fest.  
**Notes:** Quotes are from _Birds of Prey_ 8, _Oracle Year One: Born of Hope_, and _No Man's Land: Secret File and Origins_.

Everyone who knew Batgirl thinks Barbara misses her as much as they do.

The thought strikes her as she repairs the old doll that's been sitting on her desk for years, deftly and delicately sewing the faded cape back in place even as she keeps eyes an ears on the job. (She learned to read and listen simultaneously years ago; she's been expanding that skill ever since.) She remembers making it the first time, after she'd accepted that she didn't need a cape and cowl to save the world.

It wasn't a project of trembling fingers and unshed tears. (That was Robin, with his twin curls and defiant smirk.) It wasn't, either, one of simple whimsy and private laughter. (That was Nightwing, with his golden feathers and broad grin.) It was a bit wistful, a bit playful, leaving her pensive and satisfied, not melancholy and bereft.

Barbara tugs gently at the felt cape, testing it, and smiles. It isn't that she misses nothing. Kicking sadistic smiles off predators' faces with those shining boots. Disappearing into the shadows without a sound. Naked gratitude and desperate embraces and instant trust. Fighting back to back with Bruce (grim and stalwart) and Dick (dancing and laughing) and Jason (reckless and passionate). Flying from spire to spire and swooping from the sky with that cape flaring behind her, the wind in her hair, a grin beneath her cowl…

_"You know that moment – you're on a ledge with a jumpline in your hand? You feel the wind. You hear the traffic down below. Then you're off into space. And for a few seconds – before your line loses slack and your swing begins – you're on wings."_

"Oh, but that cowl sweat something fierce," she murmured, tracing the outline of the doll's. Even in the winter nights. The rest of the outfit wasn't much better; stretching kevlar over your bare skin was all well and good for protection, but it sure as hell wasn't comfortable. Spending hours at a time in it had done awful things to her skin before she concocted the right lotion.

"At least I had everything covered, I suppose," she said, smirking. Oh, thank goodness Tim had seen sense and insisted on some pants.

Now, Tim…Tim has only ever known her as Oracle. (Personally, at least; Batgirl does appear in some of his pictures.) He never looks at her and sees what she can no longer do, only what she does. And what she does is pretty damn impressive, if she does say so herself.

"And I do."

Batgirl's reach had rarely extended beyond Gotham, save for Barbara's brief term in congress, when the Bat had travelled with her across the country. Even then, when she wore the mask she worked alone. She had no agents to dispatch and command, no vast network to point them in the best directions, no way to see through miles of steel doors and shady subterfuge no matter what she did to her lenses, no matter how fast she made that motorcycle.

She was never a sidekick, but she wasn't a leader either. She was a detective, but she had to sneak into the GCPD or go to Batman for proper resources. She could make her own weapons, even improve their design, but they were imitations. That was why she retired that identity in the first place.

_"Even as Batgirl, I was perceived as some weaker version of you!"_

Maybe she'd have taken another costume, maybe not. That choice was taken from her, and she became something else entirely. Something…

_"Hey, thank you. And the city says…Gotham says…You serve me better this way than you ever did before."_

The words come unbidden as she stores her sewing kit, like the forsaken fragment of a dream. With them is the taste of dust, and the memory of bone-deep weariness, and the strangest conviction that a man could speak for a city.

She has a new mask, one that can never be torn or battered or peeled away. She has her own name, her own symbol, her own team. She still has a family, larger than ever before. She has a legacy.

"Hey, O! I'm grabbing some chilli dogs, you coming?" As always, Dinah's voice pulls her to the present by the tips of her smile. It only widens when Barbara sees her on front door surveillance, knowing exactly where to point that grin.

"On my way." Barbara sets the doll down, pats it on the head, and easily turns away.

She'll ride that motorcycle hugging Dinah's waist for dear life, her city's wind whipping her hair and her partner's laughter in her ears, and she won't miss her own in the slightest.

_"A little over a year has passed since my old life ended, since I died and was reborn. The shadows remain, but only to give contrast to the light. I'm me. More me than I ever have been. I embrace it, and the light, with a deep, continuing joy."_


End file.
